


ghost

by nkbanban



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Depression, Grief, Hashirama centric, Illusions, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Valley of the End, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nkbanban/pseuds/nkbanban
Summary: Hashirama mourns and Madara appears in front of him."...I've wanted to fuck you all these years. Until you lose your voice and I lose myself inside of you, until the last echo dies down between us and nothing can separate us anymore.”
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	ghost

**Author's Note:**

> it get's deep and dark

Dreams, he had plenty of them. Of this sort and they appeared more frequently these days. He never dared to call them nightmares, he had his own, unique, bond with them. A desperate, pathetic connection he would miss if it ended. Perhaps it was fate that along with them these inescapable feelings ebbed back to the surface of his consciousness, when the seasons changed. The earth now slowly closed its eyes and the days grew shorter. Again time has proven to be more of a feeling than a constant, too soon one year had passed since he had killed him.  
His best friend. Was he really a friend? Something more and something less was between them too.  
And thinking back to their relationship, he was aware how he never had anything comparable with somebody else, will never have after losing him and it just made his stomach turn more. Even food was hard to swallow these days. Countless times he already imagined how he could have done better. It started to occupy his free time, he would sit there, staring into nothing and just work his mind, unfolding the possibilities he might have had. How it would be now, with him. Hashirama regretted.  
Not only was it by his own hand that Madara was killed, he did it in a way that made him feel ashamed every time he was reminded of it, he knew Madara and he knew very well about his fear of having someone stand behind him. This fear only worsened when he got older. Hashirama was aware of all of this, he watched him grow up, even if they were on opposing sides of the battlefield, his eyes never left Madara and somehow Madara never left him, but in his own way, not caring, but constantly seeking Hashirama out to challenge him.  
As if trying to remind him to live up to Madara’s statement from such a long time ago, when they met for the last time at the river. Hashirama was stronger, he had to be stronger, always. It was for a purpose only Madara understood.  
The process of Madara’s fear expanding from being bladder shy, to the fear of someone standing behind him to not being able to trust others when he was not around was in plain sight to Hashirama and he understood how it isolated him. He watched how he suffered, even if he never would have admitted it. And Hashirama must have been too busy to do something about it, too hopeful, that things would turn out differently. Good. Adults were supposed to deal with their problems on their own didn’t they? But it was not the case for Madara and then it ended one year ago instead.  
The word ‘end’ held a whole new meaning for him since. It was so definite and it nagged on him and it made him desperate enough to feel physical pain. It was not a friend nor a brother who died. Nothing was settled between them, nothing was soft, only the invisible barrier between them was very fragile.  
Who was Hashirama to have done all this, to let it come this far? Scum, really.  
The last one Madara claimed to call a friend, when there was no one else in his life, his brothers all long gone. Of all the people it had to be Hashirama to kill him by stabbing him from behind, piercing through his heart, the fastest and securest way to end Madaras life, without beheading him. Hell, even if Hashiramas intention was to kill, he wasn’t able to cut Madaras body apart. Yet all he offered Madara before he died was the terror of his best friend betraying him. Hashirama was sure, back then when they started their final battle, neither expected it to be the last one.  
Or maybe it was Hashirama’s wishful thinking. A thought strong enough to have kept him functioning to this day.  
The blood that run down the blade and touched Hashiramas hands was hot and sticky. It burned and when he woke up from his dreams he clenched his fingers feeling they were on fire, then, inside his head, he would begin to chant that it was just another dream over and over again, he became devoted to it like a religion. And its god was death.  
Never had he told anyone how he kept the sword like a treasure inside his bedroom. Usually Hashirama had his weapons sealed away in a scroll, a technique from the Uzumaki clan, given to the Senju hence their close relation, as allies and in blood. The sword rested inside his closet, protected by a glass frame. He never cleaned it, never erased the prove for the horror of the reality he lived in. His own actions laid bare there. A sharp blade, once silver like the moon, now stained by red and a rusty brown. Like his soul it was tainted by his sin.  
The sequence in his dreams was always the same, he had to kill, sword already in his hand, but sometimes the place changed and then it happened in his bedroom, in the Hokage’s office or at his old house where he lived in the Senju village or one time in the middle of a flower field. The worst dreams were the ones where Madara turned around with the sword still inside his chest, like a thorn that had grown from the blossom of a crimson rose, and said something to him. His lips moved and blood dripped down the corners of his mouth and the times when Madara would shout at Hashirama, he could feel splutters of blood hitting his cheeks.  
But whatever the message was he never heard it, the rain that hit the ground was too loud and the rushing water behind him already pulled Hashirama’s consciousness away from the man in front of him. It must have been countless times when Hashirama woke up with cold sweat and forgot what he imagined to have deciphered. Every time he wondered whether his dreams or reality were the hell he found himself in. Was it both?  
His own mind was torturing him and he guessed he deserved it.  
It was difficult to go back to normal life after those dreams and put them aside. Mere dreams he tried to recall, they had no meaning, only to him, only to his heart, but they shouldn’t affect his life anymore, not a year after.  
It was fall again. The season. And all the little things he perceived, how the environment changed, let his soul travel back to the place he named the valley of the end. The place that witnessed the end of Madara’s life.  
The colored leaves began to fall from the trees and with every step Hashirama took they made a crunching sound that was frighteningly similar to the one when his sword broke through Madara’s rib cage. If he had been unsure of what he did at that time he never would have had the strength to push the metal deep inside enough. Both were exhausted, with little chakra left, relying on the power of their hands. And every movement was so painful. Numb fingers, heavy breaths, tired eyelids and the agony in his heart.  
Hashirama wavered, he wavered more than once during their battle. He didn’t want it to get so bad, he tried to talk to Madara, but at some point he was sure it was a fight to death and it was like shock. He had to make the decision back then at the very moment. What his body did, after he made the decision, was just the result of his experience. How he moved was burned into his muscles, his mind was already trying to comprehend what it would mean to lose Madara. It was still trying and failing miserably so.

A deep red waved at Hashirama every time he looked outside from his office now and it reminded him of the endless flow of blood coming from Madaras chest. It was the last image from his dreams, the most disturbing one, it showed him an unnatural amount of blood gushing out and splashing to the ground. Hashirama suppressed a bitter laugh, it was him who planted the maple trees there and there was a time he could remember walking beneath them besides his best friend, when they were as beautiful as now.  
They used to talk more back then, in the beginning.  
If Hashirama had been selfish enough, he would have left it all behind for Madara, but he decided that he had to protect the village and the peace for the people and especially the children that settled here. It wasn’t only his dream, his brothers’ wishes were still part of him. Lastly Itama and Kawarama were the crucial boost for his final task. Hashirama had a family, a village and so many people who looked up to him, who needed his guidance.  
And dare he forget he was engaged now, after just a few months of negotiations the Uzumaki clan agreed to the contract and he would marry Mito soon, next spring. A political wedding was not uncommon within his clan. Even if they were distant cousins Tobirama reminded him of an old promise between their father and the Uzumaki clan head. He said it was good for him and good for the political balance. Hashirama just nodded, he was not really listening to the details back then. To this day he cared little about the whole matter. Mito sent him letters, but Hashirama couldn’t concentrate on their contents, he replied to them halfheartedly and gave them to Tobirama, he would rewrite them, properly, and only then they were sent back. What a poor choice of a fiance he was.  
Life continued around him, but his heart had already stopped pumping along with his friend’s, it was his darkest secret. Since then Hashirama welcomed the cold pool of blood at his feet and let it immobilize him, as he sank down deeper and deeper into the swamp of his own shame.  
Seated at the Hokage’s desk, his desk, it could have been Madara’s, he sighed. It was closing hour already and a look at the remaining work told him that indeed he could go home now.  
Not like this, Hashirama rubbed at his temples, he knew he was weak, not able to pretend he was his usual self, maybe another hour at his desk could help. His cold house and cold bed could wait. One scroll then another followed and slowly darkness welcomed him again.

Red swirled with muddy water sucking him in, he gasped for air and then his eyes shot open. Hashirama was in his office again, the lights were on, it was night. But it must have been another dream because he could smell the other man and his unfocused eyes made out a standing figure in front of him. Recognizing Madara came like a natural instinct to him. His senses were trained on the man.  
He blinked and let his eyes deliberately roll over the man. Madara wore black pants and a simple black shirt, it was the combination he used to wear underneath his armor. The familiar cold feeling he was used to from his previous dreams filled his chest at the sight and immediately Hashirama brought his hands up. There was no sword, but his heart raced. Muscles tense, ready. In his dreams he killed Madara, every single time, so this was a new version? Another cruelty? Was he supposed to strangle Madara with his hands? It made him nauseous.  
A shaky breath escaped his mouth, the details, the accuracy of the man displayed across him, everything just crashed down on him. He could swear it was the most realistic dream he has ever had. It was terrifying and his body froze. Stillness came before death, any shinobi new that. Hashirama accepted it, if Madara wanted kill him it would be alright for him and a sudden calmness started to spread through his system. Neither of them moved and the more time passed in silence, the better Hashirama felt, now that he realized that his body listened to him. This version of Madara had a chance to flee.  
This Madara, Hashirama studied his dark form again, trying to separate the Madara in front of him from the one of his memories. His body, then his face, it was the same as always and Madara visited him like he had the day before, the week before. As if the past year never happened. Beautiful pale skin framed by black unruly hair that covered the right side of his face. The lips, a shape he has traced so so many times with his eyes during his lifetime already. And yet, he always ever touched them with his fist, to damage them, to make Madara bleed.  
Blood excited the man. It was no secret and he never tried to hide it. Not when his groin was pressed against Hashiramas thigh, Hashiramas abdomen, the many times he was pinned down by him during their battles. Where he rubbed his hardness along whatever body part of Hashirama he could reach, while licking his own blood from his lips. How many times was Hashirama tempted by him? In the corner of his mind he knew they could have easily left the battlefield to do other things back then. But an unmatched sense of duty was beaten into him too from the first day on he started to train as a shinobi.  
This Madara held Hashiramas gaze and his expression was disturbingly soft, the visible eye never left Hashirama. His attention was only on him and he found it was strangely relaxing. He breathed out with control and let a small smile settle on his face, a grimace molded from nostalgia. It was met by the typical half smile of his best friend.

“You want to fuck me.” Hashiramas thoughts stopped at the statement. Everything inside and outside of Hashirama just stopped. The deep growl of Madaras voice erased everything else around him. Before his inner eye Hashirama repeated the scene and watched as Madaras lips moved and brought out the filthy words. He heard right, right?  
They have never talked about sex. Had they been cowards? All their life everything had been sexual between them, their relationship was romantic and definitely sexual, even if they never slept with another.  
Now, of course, Madara was only stating the most obvious thing after so many years. The thing that was between them, unaddressed. How badly he wanted to turn the energy both used for their fights into the other thing. The passion to hurt and the passion to hold were not so far apart after all.  
Heat began to pool at Hashiramas abdomen, familiar images he started to have when his body grew slowly into one of an adults flashed through his mind. The things he wanted to push away during his teenage years, but always he was subject to his need. It was not right, not fair, to think about Madara in this way and to have used the fantasy of him for the lone moments when he needed release. Rushed, frantic strokes, guiltily hidden under his blanket, when Tobirama still used to sleep next to him.  
Hashirama’s desire came back, as raw as it ever was, only for this man. Not gentle, not tender, it was a want bordering to madness. Sex was just an earthly desire, when all Hashirama wanted to do, was to consume Madara, die with him and become one being with two beating hearts.  
“I want to fuck you Madara. I’ve wanted to fuck you all these years. Until you lose your voice and I lose myself inside of you, until the last echo dies down between us and nothing can separate us anymore.” He gripped the wood of his desk, splinters dug into his nail beds from the sheer force.  
The smile on Madaras face grew into a grin, showing his white teeth, the one canine, that was broken, all the damned details. This Madara was becoming his and he watched him move forward until he reached the desk, leaned down, supporting himself on his elbows. Madara’s hair fell forward like a thick curtain and Hashirama wanted to crawl inside and never return to the light again.  
“Fuck me. Fuck my dirty hole, like you wanted to. Own me.”  
There was no point in waiting for a permission from the man, but after those words Hashirama felt the flames from within taking control over him. He finally gave in to his desire. He lunged forward and pressed his mouth to Madara’s. With the sudden impact and the hardness of both their teeth the inside of his lip split open. It was a perfect kiss, so fitting for the both of them.  
Madara grabbed his haori, pulled him closer and in answer Hashirama opened his mouth and moaned in pleasure. But Madara just remained in his position, oddly stiff.  
“Are you this inexperienced?” Even when Madara acted so bold around him, he must have been exclusive for Hashirama, and how the thought fed his madness even more.  
“Fuck…” The imagination that something about Madara, despite his brutal acts during the war, remained pure, let the blood rush into his penis even faster. Hashirama wanted to have him, be the first to fuck him, bruise him where no one else was allowed to touch before. Not long and his erection pressed painfully against his clothes.  
Hashirama reached out to loosen Madara’s hands on his haori, then he discarded his chair, circled around the table and came to stand in front of the other man who looked at him expectantly. Board shoulders and strong, controlled arms.  
Madara never lost his proud posture, ever. Even when the fights gave him injuries that made him hunch over in pain, or that one time his belly was cut open and he had to hold his organs from spilling out. He was still so prideful. Hashirama healed him back then and Madara let him. It was a month before they shook hands for peace.  
The difference in their heights was the same as in reality, but before Hashirama was able to admire the perfection in front of him any longer he was kissed again. With a force that seemed to be symbolic for their desperation for each other. Like water slowly dripping inside a barrel only to make it burst with a single last drop. The last missing piece to complete the men, the puzzle that was their lives, their fates woven together, the grasp for the hidden string. To make them act upon their feelings they were aware of but never spoke of.  
Hashirama deepened their kiss and licked at Madara’s lips until he opened his mouth. Their tongues brushed, the way Madara moved against Hashirama was rough and awkward and it was exactly how Hashirama wanted him. What he could have had if he decided otherwise. Madara was always there, he knew he was waiting, waiting but not expecting. Trust falling apart in the process.  
He would give them everything this time.  
The hands Hashirama kept at Madara’s sides curled around the body to embrace him, to pull them together. Their chests touched, his hardness pressed against Madaras abdomen and he could feel Madaras own answering erection. Like the many times before.  
Madara moaned deeply into their kiss and Hashirama swallowed the sound eagerly. He got better after a while, he started to move his lips like Hashirama did and his tongue was still rough but less uncoordinated. A skilled dancer, who knew how to move his body. Who knew exactly where to put his strength and where place his next step, graceful and agile.  
Madara, everything was Madara, his thoughts, his wants, his past and his hope to be united with him in death again. To own him, if he used the words from earlier, but also to be owned. There would be no one else who could fill the space next to Hashirama, the emptiness in his heart and no one who would make him feel alive like this.  
People said he was the energy that created life, even Tobirama said so, but he was nothing but hollow, old, scarred bark that surrounded the void that was once his heart, already starting to dry and crumble.  
Only Madara would make him crumble, no, shatter him to pieces, and let him be reborn. He was the reason Hashirama was able to produce so much energy. His motive. All he ever wanted was a place for them to be together. An innocent wish, but life was different and complex and suddenly everything was so difficult and he let go of Madaras hand. The man who waited for him.  
He whimpered against Madaras swollen lips, he was full of regret, but he was in bliss at the same time, to have this last dance with Madara.  
Hashirama loosened his grip around Madara when he felt the other tugging at his sleeves, he shrugged the haori off and Madara wasted no time to pull his kimono shirt apart, gone now. The fastening of his hakama followed and it fell down, the fabric pooled around his feet and Hashirama slipped out of his fundoshi and sandals.  
The eye that scanned his body was deep red, the familiar sharingan he was never afraid to look into directly. Hashirama felt how the eye caressed his naked skin how he was devoured hungrily and Hashirama remembered if Madara was alive he would be able to record it and look at it forever.  
“I love you.” The words were ringing loudly in his own ears, they just came out, he didn’t really intended to blurt them out like this, but there he was. And he felt nervous, but was also relieved and then he smiled, because he had no choice but to do what his heart was screaming at him. It was the thing he would want Madara to remember for all eternity. So he had no doubts, wherever he was right now. Madara stared at his chest for a while then searched his eyes, after years together Hashirama knew how to read Madara, he was not believing Hashirama.  
Then again, love was a beautiful word and it was strong, but surely not enough to express Hashiramas darkest greed.  
With the softest touch Hashirama caressed Madaras cheek, there was no reason for Hashirama to lie and no reason for Madara to question it.  
“You were the only one. Always.” He breathed in Madara’s scent, then he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off.  
White lines, silvery in the light, his scars, were all visible and Hashirama knew them by heart. A few of them were so deep and big, that they took a darker shade. And even the destroyed skin where his heart rested was there. Grown together in the ugliest way possible, so wrong and painful and so very white. A hand stopped him from touching the place.  
He understood, maybe it was his unconscious mind protecting himself from such a pain in his dreams. There were no words, even if he wanted to tell this Madara how terribly sorry he was. For killing someone there was no forgiveness. That was his path as shinobi.  
The hand guided him to Madaras front instead and Hashirama squeezed the hardness before he undid the buttons and shoved the heavy black cloth down, it stopped at the bandages around the lower legs and automatically Hashirama knelt down to unbind them. He was careful, he wanted to be careful, cherish his lover.  
Before he would destroy Madara once again.  
He untied Madaras sandals, next was the fundoshi. It came off easily and Madaras cock was now free at Hashirama’s eye level. With a last gaze upwards he gripped the length. A hiss escaped the other and his cheeks went darker, a lovely red, he looked so alive.  
Hashirama had never touched another man, but he guessed it was not much different from his own body. The heavy flesh felt good in his hand and added to his own arousal. To know that this was Madara’s and he was giving him pleasure, now while stroking his wonderfully thick penis, this moment was already better than any past experience. Hashirama hummed in anticipation for more and couldn’t stop his free hand from palming himself and let his thumb glide over the head. He stroked at Madaras length for a good while, finding a lazy rhythm.  
The approving groans sent shivers down his spine. If this was the single last time, Hashirama wanted to try it. Experimentally he stuck his tongue out and licked the transparent drop at Madaras tip, who pushed his hip forward at the sensation. Demanding more and Hashirama gave him more, when he took as much as he could into his mouth and started to move. A few times he needed to stop, so he wouldn’t gag, but the deep sounds coming from Madara encouraged him to continue for a while. It was until a hand pushed at his forehead.  
“Stop.” Madara’s voice was quiet and lacked the commanding tone it usually had, a delicate side he had hidden from everyone else since their childhood days, but not from Hashirama.  
Knowing, someone like Madara actually needed guidance, Hashirama understood that it was solely him who was allowed to and strong enough to put him down. Madara would only be able to enjoy himself if he was pushed to the limit, when he knew someone was able to control his temper, to bring it all out. He represented the border for Madara’s destructive power, it was at the edges where Madara began to feel lust. The man was an inferno, but Hashirama was a storm and he would bend those flames either way they needed them.  
He rose from his kneeling position and was met by a hungry kiss, now Madara would taste himself. With a strong hold at his nape Hashirama fixed Madaras head and bit down on his bottom lip, hard, the warm feeling of blood entered both of their mouths.  
Iron. Sweat. Madaras most private parts. His senses were full. Nothing in his life would ever be more delicious than this sweet nectar. He lapped the blood from Madara like it was sacred and not to be spilled.  
It was a dream becoming warm breathing flesh, alive under his deadly hands. Hashirama’s nipples hardened under Madara’s scratching fingernails, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. And he was almost going insane when he felt Madaras sensitive hand on his hardness, pumping it slowly.  
He savored the feelings before he grabbed Madara’s hips, dug his fingers into the skin and threw him on the desk. He was met with an angry glare, but he knew Madara, he was not angry, he was excited and he expected more.  
Hashirama pulled Madaras thighs apart, then settled between them. Madara sat upright and Hashirama used the opportunity to bite at his neck and nibble at the hurt skin. He was attentive in the way he placed his marks, he wanted to do it properly and he took a long time with the last one. To prepare it, to make it take an ugly blue and green hue later, directly under his chin. Where everybody could see. He looked at his creation, satisfied and pleased with the way he made Madara pant.  
With his work done he pushed Madara down gently by the shoulders, then slowly scratched his arms all the way down to his wrists leaving red streaks on them. He watched Madaras abs contracting underneath him. The sweet little pain Madara was after. Hashirama was giving him exactly that.  
There was a reason Madara kept his gloves on most of the time. He had suffered severe burns and the skin was very sensitive, not fitted for a battle. It must have happened when he was around the age when their voices broke and their hair had grown out long enough to touch their shoulders, that was when the gloves appeared and that was the first time he used a dangerously vast fire jutsu against the Senju.  
So Hashirama ignored the hands, if Madara ever experienced pleasure from having them touched roughly he would have made Hashirama do so long ago. After all Hashirama seemed to have been his test object for things like that. He didn’t even remember the first time Madara ground his hardness against him. Perhaps a decade passed since.  
With one hand Hashirama supported himself on the desk then returned to take Madaras cock inside his mouth and sucked. Slowly, he traced every little shape with his tongue, tried different amounts of pressure and kissed the whole length. He worshiped Madaras penis all while playing with his balls in his hand. Then he licked the underside from between his balls up to the slit and pushed his tongue forcefully inside the hole. Madara gasped and Hashirama wondered if he would have ever gotten Madara to show him how he urinated. He wanted to be the one whom Madara trusted.  
But even with the whimpers coming from Madara he gave the man no time to adjust, he sank down to his balls again and took one testicle inside his mouth, exploring the sensitive part with his tongue. The thighs next to his head began shaking, maybe it was discomfort, but Hashirama wanted to seize this moment, those were the things he just had to do. Gross, selfish. A side to him that he only bared to Madara.  
With a wet sound he released Madaras scrotum, raised his legs and traveled further. The ring of muscle was already clenching as Hashirama started to lick at it. Madara whined and tried to close his legs, but Hashirama hardened his grip to keep them apart, he wanted this. He traced the creases and after increasing the pressure with his tongue he aimed more for the opening, but never pushed inside.  
After using his tongue Hashirama started to kiss Madaras hole passionately and he could feel the skin swell slightly and he noted how it softened with the time. Madara huffed and moaned and cursed and Hashirama was delighted when the man began pushing towards his face. It didn’t need much more until he felt a clumsy hand on his head, pulling his hair and scratching his scalp in a desperate manner. Hashirama smiled at the motion, how it showed him that Madara wanted him to hold him, he gave both their straining erections a few rewarding strokes before he resumed to please Madara passionately between his cheeks. He lapped at the ring, coating it with saliva and finally Hashirama brought his finger to it and prodded at it.  
When the fingertip disappeared inside he rose up to bend over Madara who was sprawled so beautifully on the table, only for Hashirama, and kissed him deeply. The resistance on his finger lessened and he pushed it all the way in.  
Madara held onto Hashiramas neck, again pulling at his hair. And Hashirama drank the moans from Madaras lips when he started to move the finger in and out. With a second finger added he started to stretch the warm hole that would take Hashirama inside soon. Where they could be as close as possible. Their kiss started to get sloppy, with Madaras and his own breaths between them. More like tongues meeting in the air, messily licking and swirling around while leaving droplets of spit on their chins.  
When Hashirama felt the muscle soften enough to take more he spit on his hand and shoved three fingers inside, not as gentle and patient as before, as his fingers now mimed a fucking motion.  
And Madara loved it, his head fell back and his voice filled the room with dirty curses, not caring about how obscenely loud they have become. He pushed with his bottom back at Hashirama’s hand, his fingers crawling on his back, nails digging hard into his flesh, enough to make him bleed.  
And Hashirama loved it, he loved how eagerly Madara swallowed his fingers and enclosed him with the heat of a devastating wildfire. The hands he missed so much were now on his back and this time he let Madara tear him open with them.  
“Hashirama, put yourself inside me.” In contrast to the sounds he made before, Madara whispered the words directly into Hashiramas ear, his breath was hot. Hashirama shuddered, never had words turned him on more and he couldn’t wait to fuck the other man.  
Without further hesitation Hashirama obeyed, he pulled the fingers out, aligned his hasty spit slicked member and drove slowly inside the hot walls. Hashirama groaned at the feeling, how his length was surrounded so tightly by Madara. Deeper and deeper falling into the fire.  
Madara’s face twisted in discomfort and Hashirama stopped midway, he reached for Madaras cock and began stroking it slowly.  
“You’re doing so good Madara.” With his other hand Hashirama gently traced Madaras jawline.  
“You’re too good, so perfect.” The man underneath him whimpered and Hashiramas heart sunk. Perfect was not a word to begin with, Madara was made for him, he was his flesh and his soul. They were each others shadow and light. Always have been, as old as the stars were.  
In the distance Hashirama heard the water flow again, their bright childish laughter merging together, like birds chirping on a spring morning, promising that everything will be alright. Then. The clashing sound of their weapons, that sung to him like the lullaby of a loving mother.  
“Hashirama…”  
And he broke. His heavy heart after wavering for a long time in denial, finally, like one of their pebble stones, after the last skip, drowned in the river. The flow rushed through his whole body. It was made of old grief and old love and he accepted it.  
With stinging eyes Hashirama began to move, pounding merciless into the welcoming heat of Madara and whatever emotion showed on Madara’s face now, he was sure he was the same. Broken and complete.  
He thrust his hips forward hard while his bruising hands held Madara in place, who in return held onto his arms equally strong. They were both holding onto the moment where their worlds collided, like it was always meant to happen, destroying everything else around them. To leave them as the victors where they would create a new world. Madara and him standing like kings, lovers.  
“More.” It was beautiful how Madaras face was twisted in pleasure, a sight Hashirama had never seen before and he was proud how it was only reserved for his eyes. In response he shifted a little, bend Madaras thighs up so his hips raised and thrust into him even harder. Madara cried and arched his back. Hashirama probably found his prostrate. He steadied him in the position and continued hitting the spot.  
The sweetest sounds escaped Madara, their ends broken when Hashirama pushed all the way inside and his hip rocked the body connected to him. Hashirama noticed how his own humming and groaning was no less audible. Neither of them felt like they should hold back. Nothing separated them, not even death.  
The satisfaction Hashirama received from the view underneath him combined with the sensation from gliding inside Madara was driving him almost crazy. The way Madara clenched around him when he hit his prostate so hard he would have squirmed, if Hashirama was not there to hold him. Never had he felt so good, blessed, before. And still it was not enough, still he wanted to drag this moment on, for an eternity. Hashirama grunted in agreement at his own thoughts.  
Pounding into Madara filled the air with their bodies slapping and a wet sound. It was most erotic for Hashirama, as he enjoyed the sex even more with it. But it was also getting a little uncomfortable.  
With some effort he stopped his movements which earned him a glare from his partner.  
That was when he noticed his own panting for the first time, how hot his skin had become and the sweat that made his hair stick to his back. It burned in a pleasant way when he moved and some strands brushed on the irritated skin. He gave Madara a loving smile and leaned down to kiss him.  
Their lips met with the slightest touch, not desperate not rushed, but Hashirama ghosted his lips along Madara’s, feeling his breath coming out in little intervals from the gap. There was a crust of dried blood and Madara’s scent was surrounding him. It was intoxicating and Hashirama shuddered from the feeling of Madara’s essence around him. It was Madara who finally pushed up to meet his mouth fully, as impatient as he knew his friend- love.  
Hands cradled around his neck, urging him closer as if that was even possible, when his lips were already pressed so firmly against Madara’s. Amused he made a sound and let himself be pulled, he then lowered the rest of his body and came down to his elbows. Now their chests were flush together and his abdomen trapped Madara’s erection between them.  
With the new sensation a sudden heavy wave of pleasure hit Hashirama and he almost came on the spot. He shuddered and clenched his fists and with a low growl he willed his body to stay still. Only when he felt the other’s chest rumbling he opened his eyes again and pulled backwards to look at his face. Madara chuckled, hiding his mouth behind his loose fist.  
“Don’t make fun of me.”  
“You-”  
Before Madara was able to finish his sentence Hashirama pulled his penis out and thrust inside again hard. Madara cried out and Hashirama got back to his prior position. He enjoyed a few powerful thrusts before he pulled out for a last time and grabbed Madara by his arm and yanked him up from the desk. Madara stumbled a little, scowling at him. Standing in front of Hashirama with his messed up hair and sticky skin he was no less intimidating than he was on the battle field.  
“What are you doing?”  
“So eager. Madara, you’ve always been like this with the simple things in life, so impatient, while I have to admire your determination to wait with the things important to you, the few things you held close, clung to so passionately.”  
“As if this was a simple thing. I’ve waited a whole lifetime for you. What do you even understand of the depth of my feelings.” The tomoe in his eyes spun wildly, it was not a question.  
“Nothing, I can only speak for myself, but I’d like to believe we are the same.”  
“Don’t compare me with yourself, we took very different paths.”  
“The paths we choose to walk don’t determine who we are and I know who you are. I love you and I mean it, I mean it in a way that I’ll never have this with somebody else. I’ll always be craving for you. You... make me long for my own death.”  
There was no response and the sharingan only bore into Hashirama, into his soul. And that was the moment something inside of him shattered, the weight of his admission, that he mourned so deeply. To have said it out aloud. The intense personality flared before him angry and hot, like Madara was really alive again and it was too much.  
Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, he never bothered wiping them away. In defeat he let them blur his vision. Madara won all along, when he stepped into Hashirama’s life and made him fall in love and so much more. But the man was so wonderful, he would always want him in every life, in all the lives that came after this, for all eternity. And if death was the end he wanted his bones buried with Madara’s. He didn’t want a grave next to his, but the same one.  
His breath hitched at the pain and he wanted to cover his mouth before he would start to sob pathetically, that was when he felt Madara was faster and a hand cupped his face, soft fingers traced the wet lines, his cheekbones, his eyelids and then his ear. It tickled when Madara tucked his hair behind it. And finally he brushed the new forming tears at Hashirama’s eyes away with his thumb.  
“Look at me.” After a few times blinking he saw how close Madara was once again.  
“When did everything go wrong?” He asked in a weak voice and Madara answered with a sound, not bitter, but in amusement.  
“We started to become each others pain. I only wanted to be with you in a place where we don’t have to see our brothers die anymore.”  
“I know.” Madara kissed him softly before Hashirama could even think of a reply. More kisses followed, reassuring and comforting. It reminded Hashirama of how bad Madara used to be with words, this was his language. Madara showed him.  
It was one of the reasons why they were so good and sometimes so bad together, but so alike. Just as quick as Hashirama was to display his feelings with his many expressions, Madara was quick to take action.  
It was selfish how Hashirama let himself be soothed by Madara’s kindness, he should have declined. He did such cruel things to Madara and yet there he stood in all his misery, in his own darkness and it was Madara who lifted him up. In return; who else could have?  
Slowly the kisses deepened and their tongues touched and Hashirama felt his heart throb when he recognized how rough the other man was. A lot better than their first kiss, but still, it reminded him how Madara only longed for him and it fueled his desire again.  
Hashirama trailed down with his kisses and placed them on Madaras jaw, then lowered his head further to lick and suck at the marks he left on the neck earlier. The throat under his lips vibrated and Hashirama grazed his teeth over the adam’s apple. He could have bitten Madara open like this and drown in his blood. At the thought his erection gave a twitch. It was not surprising how Madara brought his darkest side to the surface and he liked it, it was freeing. Instead he settled for the left shoulder and sunk his teeth into the muscle, hard, while breathing in with relish. Madara groaned deeply. The familiar taste entered his taste buds and Hashirama covered the spot with his mouth. Following his urges he traced his tongue along the torn skin and sucked the blood out of it.  
“Drink from me.” And he did, he swallowed the mixture of spit and blood all the while Madara held him close and drew circles on the back of his head. And it made him feel save. Save like he was a child again, before he started to learn about the agony the world kept ready for him. Three times he swallowed, three days were Madara’s death and his birthday apart, before he withdrew to look at his creation. Cruel, beautiful. Immediately more blood came from the wound and it streaked down Madara’s chest. It colored the white skin above his heart red. Hashirama looked at the other man’s face.  
The red of his visible eye was unusually dark, but the lines around it were soft and it drew him in like it had a gravity on its own.  
Madara’s eye was a red moon in the late summer, when the nights were hot and humid and the flowers’ scent lay heavy in the air.  
“Open your legs.” Hashirama heard himself say and pointed towards the floor.  
With a smirk Madara followed his instructions and laid down on the pile of their clothes. Hashirama knelt down between the pale muscular legs. They were beautiful, he always admired how strong the thighs looked even hidden under loose trousers. To have them presented to him like this, naked, marble skin. Hashirama caressed both legs, from the ankles up to his calves and he loved how they were more than a handful, around his kneecaps with the slightest scars on them, only to get to his so beloved firm muscles of Madara’s thighs, the front where his distinctive biceps femoris stood out, the sides with the curve where his vastus lateralis was. His physique was flawless and Hashirama was tempted to use his healing chakra to feel all those muscles and cells beneath the skin, too look inside the man. Really feel him from the inside.  
He slid his fingers through the precum that dribbled on Madaras stomach. Still ignoring the length he abandoned and applied it to his own throbbing hardness. Then Hashirama grabbed his thighs just on the back of his knees and pressed them together. A groan escaped Hashirama’s mouth when he pushed his penis between the pale legs all the way to his base. He rubbed against the underside of Madara’s member, certainly not satisfying enough from the look he received from the man, but he took his time pushing and pulling. The feeling was less intensive in comparison to the tight hot hole from before, but the pleasure was almost the same. Like the little rushes he got from the blood, it was the same when he looked at the thick muscles and drove his length between them.  
The motion made him ultimately crave for more so he let Madaras legs go and spit on his hand. Two fingers were easily sucked inside and Madara hummed in enjoyment. Hashirama worked them all the way inside and stretched the hole, then he pushed the fingertips up brushing against the prostrate.  
“Aaah come on!” The strand of hair that covered Madaras right eye fell to the side, while he squirmed underneath Hashirama, begging him to finally fuck him again. He pulled his fingers out and paused while preparing his member.  
“I love you so much, you don’t know. I want to have you forever.” And Hashirama pushed inside Madara. Closed his eyes. Once again between pain and pleasure. His heart was torn.  
“I…” he started, feeling hot tears swelling, then the first ones dropped onto Madaras chest mixing with the blood that stained it.  
“can’t take it… I want you beside me… it was supposed to be different… I want you in my life.” He cried between his thrusts. The spot where Madaras heart rested slowly bled out its red color from the steady flow of Hashiramas tears. And maybe it was for the best to let the salt water purify the unholy fleck.  
“Stop it, stop crying!” Frantically Madara rubbed his hands on Hashiramas cheeks, trying to wipe away the wetness. Clumsy, he moved so horribly uncharacteristic for his natural grace Hashirama thought and leaned down to hide his face in the crook of his neck.  
And there he felt it. Madara was crying himself. They shared it.  
After his discovery Hashirama remained close to the warm body, embracing it while he made love to the man. Strong, powerful movements, desperate panting and chokes, the wet sounds between their bodies and whispers of love. Thick black hair that stuck to his forehead, silent cries from bruised lips and soft hands searching for something to hold onto. He guided them to his shoulders, where they moved around his neck. Their tears dried up eventually and Hashirama was back at kissing Madara. His body was wet and soft and it was welcoming him so nicely.  
As more and more of the heat collected in his abdomen Hashirama knew there was no escape from his orgasm. He leaned back, gripped Madara’s hips, lifted them and thrust into Madara with force. Beautiful, the man who spread opened for him was the most beautiful gift life had given him. His screams were fire and Hashirama wanted them to burn brightly. He slapped his groin to Madara frantically now, chasing his release. So close. And with a choked cry the white hot bliss washed through his body. Hashirama shot his semen inside the throbbing hole. Filling it with his essence. And he still pushed slowly inside to ride out his orgasm to the very last of it. Until his nerves hurt from being over stimulated.  
Madara watched him, still gasping for air, his red eye followed every little movement. And again Hashirama realized how much in love he was. From inside, where they were still connected, he could feel the little vibration that Madara’s strokes on his own penis caused. Hashirama took a hold of it, stopped Madara at his wrist and then he pulled his softening member out with a sloppy, dirty sound.  
The semen oozed out and dripped down the cheeks. Still holding Madara’s wrist to keep him from stroking himself to his own orgasm, Hashirama fixed his gaze on Madara’s loose entrance. The fluid was thick and he felt a little sad that it didn’t stay longer within the other man, he felt giddy about the fact that something of himself could be inside Madara, it was more significant to him than a mark on the outside. With pity he scooped it in his free hand and smeared it between his fingers. Then he brought his hand to his own muscle and pushed a semen slick finger inside, not wasting much time enjoying the feeling, he added a second and then a third. He stretched his asshole barely enough.  
“Will you do it? I want you to take me.”  
“Hashirama.”  
“I’m just…” He gathered as much of the sperm as he could from Madara’s ass and applied it to himself.  
“Lay down, Hashirama.”  
They changed positions. On his back Hashirama looked up to Madara, his hair was everywhere around his face. While he studied Hashirama’s lower bodyhalf with his left eye, his right eye was closed, but Hashirama didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to live the moment, he wanted to feel Madara, everywhere. Hashirama raised his hips when Madara edged nearer and guided his tip to Hashirama’s entrance. The little pressure of Madaras cock pushing at his entrance left Hashirama closed at first, but his eyes widened when Madara used more force and his tip slipped inside. It burned. It was so uncomfortable.  
“Don’t fight me. Aah! Hashirama you’re so tight.” Steadily Madara pushed more of his length inside. And Hashirama tried to breathe. It was a strange feeling, but it became better and he was glad he used the semen to lubricate his hole before.  
“I’m not going to hold back now.” Madara grunted and began thrusting into Hashirama without hesitation. He gasped, still trying to adjust. It was his best friend who tore him apart, the one who fucked him and visibly enjoyed it. Lust drew new lines on his face. A face Hashirama never wanted to forget, he wanted to remember it with every single emotion he had seen on it. Madara’s features sometimes only shifted slightly, but with all the attention Hashirama gave him throughout their lives he knew the differences.  
Finally Hashirama let go of his tension and quit fighting.  
Now he only took what Madara gave to him and soon he found himself letting out low moans. He reached out with his hands and clasped Madara’s forearms. The skin under his fingertips was still damp and hair tickled slightly around his fingers when it swayed with every movement.  
“It feels so great! Fuck!” The curse gave Hashirama shivers and he felt his cock twitch. Blood filled it again, not enough to make him go completely hard, but it was still surprising what Madara caused in him given the fact that he just came minutes ago. He released one if his hands and cupped his dick inside his palm.  
“You look good! Just like that with my cock inside you!” Madara threw his head back, showing his pale muscular neck, with the dark marks painted on it, to Hashirama. The action changed his angle and for the first time a jolt ran through Hashirama as Madara obviously hit the right spot. Automatically his eyes closed and he gritted his teeth, it was overwhelming and he moved his bottom forward to meet the next thrusts.  
He wanted more of it, he was at Madara’s mercy.  
And he let his body as well as his soul sink down into the deep water of the night that surrounded him. It was cool against his heated skin and it made him shiver as he began to feel every pore responding to it. Madara pulled him into the rift of time. Every spark, born from the place that Madara penetrated, made him crave for more, as it was the only thing that imitated a heartbeat inside his empty shell. Madara was his life and he wanted to be alive again inside his arms.  
Closer to his orgasm Madara rutted against him in an erratic rhythm. His hips jerked forward painfully hard and with a low growl he spilled his seed inside Hashirama and Hashirama felt his heart ache, because he saw that the moment before, Madara searched his eyes again. He came with the sweetest expression on his face all while maintaining eye contact.  
Madara collapsed onto his chest and Hashirama embraced him there. Even if he wanted them to be closer, he knew it was impossible. He knew it was selfish and childish, such irrational thoughts. Now, that Madara was so near Hashirama bent his head down a little so he could bury his nose inside the black hair. He nuzzled it and breathed in the familiar scent.  
“If only you were mine. Not a dream, but the person I came to know at the river, the one I shared my true self with. And you too showed me so much, during the times back then, how it was, I was lucky. I fell in love with you, your cocky self, your blunt words. The way you tried to hide your pain and sorrow.”  
“How can you say this? If you’ve seen my pain, how is it appealing to you?”  
“I’m possessive. With you. I loved how I was able to see what moved you, but I always had faith in you. I don’t know if meddling with your clan affairs could have made a difference.”  
“I would’ve hated you.”  
Hashirama chuckled.  
“Don’t say that.”  
“I’m definitely not going to say something you want to hear only to please you. I’m not going to feed your delusional self.”  
“It’s alright. I know you love me.”  
In answer he grumbled and shifted to the side. With his head on Hashirama’s chest and his legs sprawled over him, Madara let his hand caress all the places he could reach. When he found a scar he scratched it with his nail. A lot of people found it odd how Hashirama lacked scars, his peers even looked at him with disgust, later in his life he understood that it was simply an intimidating sight for others.  
“Hashirama, honestly, this. We both wanted it. I knew, but you never gave me the signs.”  
“It was difficult to hold myself back, but I didn’t want to scare you and the circumstances were not the best. I think we could have been lovers, it was always possible.”  
Between his fingers the black strands felt heavy. Alive. And the body on top of him was the same. Madara calmed down from having sex, his breathing became even and the reoccurring sting of his scratching was a very distinct sensation on Hashirama’s belly. It was not like a dream at all.  
“So much happened. Now, all I can think of is that we’re still very young, Madara.”  
“We are shinobi.” The indication of the statement was clear.  
“Yes, but we also have a village and the beginnings of peace.”  
The hand on Hashirama withdrew and suddenly he felt a finger flick at his soft cock. He coughed at the sudden pain. It was sharp, Madara used his full strength.  
“Oww what was that for?” Hashirama covered his genitals in fear of getting struck a second time. He knew his friend.  
“Let me start a war.”  
“You’re terrible.”  
Madara raised his head and looked at him.  
“I knew it, work on that face of yours, your pout is ugly.”  
A lightheartedness swelled from his chest and Hashirama bit his lip. His little pout surely would have grown into a full laughter. This was his Madara. There was no mistaking it.  
And before he knew it he kissed Madara with all his feelings. Just flat on the mouth with his hands pressed to each side of his face. Not that he ever thought the man would try to escape, but maybe he wanted it to last for as long as he needed it to.  
Some things had to die first in order to bloom with full strength after. It was a cycle and within Hashirama would always find Madara again.  
Even if he was chasing a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a prequel...


End file.
